The Pox
by artiluna55
Summary: What starts as an exploration into Britain's birthday turns into an all out adventure when two younger countries come down with the same illness. Stuck at Britain's house can America and Canada survive chickenpox? Will America ever get to celebrate his big brothers birthday?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters in any way.

Story Summary: What starts as an exploration into Britain's birthday turns into an all out adventure when two younger countries come down with the same illness. Stuck at Britain's house can America and Canada survive chickenpox?

"Dude! Are you serious!?" One voice roared over all other sounds. Children, adults, and people standing in shop doors turned to look at the energetic dirty blonde walking down the street. That kind of raw energy was hard to come by in these cold, winter months.

"Well… Think about it. You have one every year. Have you ever thought about his before the other day?" A much softer voice questioned.

"Well, Duh! I thought he was…", that loud boisterous voice trailed off as if the owner of it was actually getting lost in his thoughts. It was a change from his normal day, quick fire attitude. He was actually thinking hard about the topic at hand, and the more he thought about it the sadder he looked. He reached up wiping off his sweaty brow while his eyes stared off at some distant place.

"What? You thought he what?" Seeing his brother quiet down into somberness was rare enough that Canada took his eyes off the street ahead. He turned to his left to see America staring at the ground as they walked. It was a rare sight to see the self proclaimed hero so lost in thought, "Oh. I get it. Did you think he wasn't inviting you?" Canada asked his brother. Canada shifted the gift bag he was holding from his right to his left hand and absentmindedly started to scratch his left arm through his red and white sweater.

America shrugged his shoulders, and his glasses slid from the bridge of his nose. It made the nation look quite pathetic actually, "He can get so upset over birthdays." America put his hand on his side and scratched through his fighter jacket. He'd started itching in that particular spot earlier in the day. He chalked it up to the trip.

"Just yours." Canada piped in.

"You know you did the same thing too! It's not like your part of United Kingdom of Great Britain anymore. You don't have to drag him by his ear to YOUR birthday every year." America huffed a bit resentful.

"Yeah, but it was different with me. You were the instigator. So you get blamed for me being rebellious too. Something about you being a bad example, I believe that's what he said back then." Canada had since looked back to the street ahead. In that instant Canada missed the ghastly face America was making off to the side. The color drained out of America's face as he took in the fact his brother had just given him. More sweat came to his face, and he used his sleeve to wipe it away. _**I'm really hot for it to be so cold out especially with snow on the ground. That's new.**_ America didn't linger on it to long though. He had other things on his mind.

Pale and looking much like a ghost America's shoulders sagged, "Dude that is so not fair." America looked back at Canada to see the sympathetic smile on his brother's face. That's when America noticed once again that Canada was scratching his left arm, "Dude you've been doing that ever since we started this trip. What's wrong Mattie? Did you get poison ivy?"

Canada looked down at his offending arm, "No. Not poison ivy. I don't know. It's probably the sweater." Canada continued to scratch for a moment more before stopping, "We're almost there." He quirked an eyebrow as he noticed America was scratching his side once more, "You've been doing that since the plane."

America shrugged his shoulder, "Just the plane ride. It's nothing. Maybe I'm developing a nervous habit for this trip. I wasn't like this at your place." America stopped scratching and looked down to the gift in his hand, "Maybe we should just go home. This birthday thing is too complicated anyway. Besides I tried looking it up on Wikipedia and I couldn't find the exact day he was born. There was like a day the first tribes of way back when were there on his little island." America huffed, "Then there was the day Great Britain was formed. Which they didn't have an exact day for! They only gave me a year! Not even a single year either! Then there was a day for United Kingdom of Great Britain! He can't have more than one birthday! Dude, Which one would he celebrate!?"

Canada laughed as his brother descended into a realm of light hearted anger and stress, "Why didn't you just ask Arthur?"

". . ." America stared up at the sky once again seriously thinking about that question. He reached up pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. _**Why didn't I just ask him? It sure would have been easier. Why did I come all the way here?**_

America looked away from the street and back at Canada, "Well it just came to my mind not too long ago. That he never asked me over for his birthday. That's why I came to you in the first place. I wanted to know if he celebrated it at all with anyone or if it was just me."

Canada rolled his head from side to side as he thought about that, "He's never asked me to his birthday, but I still think you should have asked France. He would know."

"No way, Mattie." America said in quick reply, "You know France gives me the creeps."

"He isn't that bad, Alfred." Canada's eyes finally landed on the house of Britain, "Oh we finally made it. Alfred, are you ready?"

The two walked up to the front door America with his American themed wrapped up box in one hand and Canada with his Canadian themed gift bag.

With one last sigh America raised his hand and began to uncouthly bang on the door managing to put his thoughts aside and return to his normal attitude, "Yo! Britain! You Home!"

The banging continued until some five minutes later the lock on the door disengaged. The door opened half way and a disgruntled Britain stood glaring, "What the bloody hell are you doing!? Banging away on the door like you never learned any manners!"

Half of the English gentleman's anger was stemming from the large wet stain covering the front of his green vest. America was oblivious to the stain, but Canada realized that Alfred's shouting and pounding had most likely startled the older nation into dropping his famous tea all over himself.

America was not disheartened in the least by Britain's words. In fact he smiled from ear to ear, "Yo Dude. We came to ask you something! So can we come in for a minute?" One had to wonder if America was actually asking that last sentence because he went to walk on in before Britain had a chance to respond.

It was in this moment that Britain took a second glance around the intruding annoyance in his doorway and saw Canada standing outside as well, "Both of you, eh? What's going on here?" Then coming back to his senses he went to shut the door on America who was half way in, "You bloody git! I did not invite you in yet! At least wait for an answer! Didn't I teach you anything!?"

America laughed as the English gentleman put all his weight into trying to close the door. Unfortunately for Britain it was not happening. America kept his body in the door and his superhuman strength easily kept it open, "Come on Artie. Let us in!"

"Wait for me to let you in then!" Britain shouted back.

Canada stood back taking in the two arguing in the doorway. It was a rather funny sight. Canada wasn't going to break up the banter between the two, but he was increasingly becoming more and more uncomfortable in his sweater, "Arthur," Canada scratched at his left arm again, but this time he kept moving up his arm to scratch his shoulder as well. The persistent itch he'd had at the start of this journey was spreading up his arm now and over his shoulder to his back. This sweater had never bothered him before. Why it was suddenly like being trapped in an itchy death trap Canada wasn't sure, "Can I ask you a favor?" Canada raised his arm and wiped at his sweaty brow. It was cold out, but maybe the sweater was to warm.

It was Canada's tone that finally got Britain and America to stop their bickering. America backed off and Britain opened the door to let the two younger nations inside.

Britain studied Canada's face. He looked a bit under the weather, "Are you ok?" He stepped aside to let the two enter. America strolled on in and Canada followed. Britain reached out as the younger one passed placing his hand on Canada's forehead, "You feel warm. You could have a cold."

Canada nodded, "I'm fine, but do you have a shirt I could borrow. I didn't bring anything with me. I didn't think this would be a long trip, and my sweater is making me itch, and it's really hot."

"You've been scratching since we left your place, bro." America reminded once again as he walked back over to his younger brother, "You should have told me. We could've stopped and bought another shirt. I could've bought you a cool one." He reached out taking his brother's gift bag so he could go change. With all the commotion Britain hadn't noticed the gift items as he stared at Canada.

Canada laughed nervously at America's suggested idea.. Sometimes his fashion sense and America's seemed to clash. "Don't worry about it. It hasn't really bothered me until now. Besides, you're one to talk." The simple reminder seemed to cause America to unconsciously reach out and scratch his side.

"Well come on then. Let's see what we can find." Britain motioned for Canada to follow him upstairs not noticing America or the gifts as he walked away. While they walked off America went to Britain's couch and sailed onto it, a smile on his face. He sat the American clad birthday gift and the Canadian themed bag on the coffee table as he waited for his two brothers to return.

As the minutes ticked by America found himself drifting off into sleep. He was tired which was odd enough. He wiped at his forehead again he wasn't one to complain about running heat during the winter months but it felt like an inferno in here. He wiggled out of his jacket throwing it haphazardly on the floor. He was just starting to doze off when he was suddenly brought back to full consciousness by a scream from upstairs.

America bolted upright on the couch and turned to look up the staircase, "Matthew!" He recognized the voice and went racing upstairs. He took the stairs three at a time. When he reached the upstairs hallway he saw Britain standing in the open doorway of the bathroom. The old nation was staring into the small room with a look of sympathy and sudden realization.

"What happened!? What's wrong!?" America shoved Britain into the small bathroom and out of the way so he could see what was happening. America's eyes bugged as he saw his younger brother standing in the bathroom with his shirt off. "Bro!? What -!?"He was about to ask what was wrong when he could easily see for himself. His younger brother had red dots that were simply covering his left arm and shoulder, "Dude, what was that sweater made out of!?"

Canada stared wide eyed at his red polka dotted self. He seemed like he was in too much shock to speak at the moment.

Britain regained his balance and shot America a rather vicious look before turning to look back at Canada. A smile tugged at his mouth and then he laughed light heartedly. Britain knew what was going on although he'd been caught off guard by Canada's scream he knew the young nation would be fine, "You don't know what it is?" He said in a calm voice.

Canada shook his head no in horror. America took the moment to turn and stare at Britain. Britain wasn't panicked in the least. In fact he looked like he found the current situation funny, "Dude! Canada looks like a polka dotted sweater! What's wrong with him!?"

Britain laughed, "I forgot you never had this. You didn't either America. That's going to be a problem for you. It's highly contagious."

America's eyes dilated to pinpricks, "Dude that is not cool! Heroes don't get sick, and they definitely don't do polka dots! Is it the plague!? Canada, did you get the plague!?"

Canada was quickly becoming panicked with talk of the plague, and Britain shook his head no, "He does not have the plague, Alfred. He simply has chicken pox. It is quite common in children. I actually forgot neither of you had it before. It is almost a rite of passage for kids. Well it was in the elder days. Now, there is a vaccine. I am guessing you did not bother with that vaccine, did you Alfred?"

"Chicken Pox!?", Canada cried as he started to scratch his arm again.

"WoWoWo. A needle?" America shook his head no at the thought.

Britain walked over to Canada gently taking a hold of his wrist to keep him from scratching, "You shouldn't scratch. It'll scar."

Canada sighed heavily, "I should go home. You could get sick too."

Britain shook his head no, "Don't worry. I had chicken pox ages ago. I cannot get it again, and the worst part of it was France taking care of me." Britain trembled at the far away memory,"Besides. Chicken pox is worse for adults than it is for children. You should not be alone at your house." He put his hand back on Canada's head, "You already have a fever. You can stay here. If I am right your brother-", He looked back at America, "will be joining you soon enough."

"No way dude!" America cried, "Hero's don't get sick!"

Britain's head cocked to the side as he stared at America, "You realize you are scratching your side, right? How long has that been going on?"

America blinked as he felt sweat trickle down his face, "No way dude! It's from the plane ride! That's all! Besides being sick would totally mess up the reason for coming here! So I can't catch some stupid chicken disease." He started to scratch his side harder as he spoke.

Britain gave America 'the eye', and he walked over to his younger brother grabbing the seam of his shirt and yanking it up with a rather annoyed face on, "…daft…" He mumbled.

Canada stared at his older brother, "You have them too, Alfred."

America looked down at his stomach. Sure enough he also looked like a polka dotted sweater. His brows furrowed into an unhappy look. He turned to leave the bathroom ripping his shirt out of Britain's hand in the process, "Well this sucks." He walked away down the hall.

Britain and Canada followed him out into the hallway. Britain crossed his arms over his chest, "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to go get some water!" He grumbled unhappily, "At least this explains why I felt weird since yesterday." He raised his sleeve wiping off his brow, "Hey Britain?" He stopped walking and reached out to put his hand on the wall "Can we… open… a windo-"He was standing in the middle of the hallway and not finding the wall with his hand ,because it was too far away, the dizzy nation almost toppled over. Just as he started to keel over America felt two strong arms wrap around his torso and steady him.

"Hold on there, Alfred. I have you." Britain kept his arms around America to keep his younger brother upright, but it was a struggle, "Good grief! Look at how much you weigh now!" The older nation strained. Britain tried to remember the last time he had held America up. It was a distant memory, but the child had never weighed nearly _this_ much.

America sunk down into Britain's arms as a wave of dizziness overtook him. He noticed that his glasses had fallen off of his face and onto the floor, but he didn't care. It took a moment for the room to stop spinning, but when it did Alfred let out a short laugh, "Hey. Good catch, Bro."

"Good catch nothing! You'll give me a hernia!" Britain held onto America tightly making sure he didn't fall to the floor.

Canada came over to the two and carefully reached down picking America's glasses up off the floor. Then he reached out putting his hand on his brother's forehead, "Hey, you feel hot to me. That can't be good. I have a fever too."

"I'll be fine." America mumbled, "I'm the hero after all."

Britain started to walk back towards the guest bedroom dragging America with him. When they finally made it there Britain flopped America unceremoniously down on the sheets themed with the British Flag. Britain had to admit he was a bit surprised when America, face down in the sheets, didn't even make a fuss about being dropped like a rock.  
"Alfred, Are you ok?" He placed his hand on America's shoulder and shook him lightly, but he got no response. Rolling America over Britain saw that his younger brother was out like a light. Rolling his eyes he finished situating the sleeping nation on the bed and began to firmly tuck him in.

Canada walked to the other side of the king sized bed. Starting to feel ill himself he climbed on in under the sheets. He smiled up at Britain, "Sorry for the trouble Arthur. We actually did have a different reason for coming here."

Britain looked across the bed at Canada, "And what reason would that be, Matthew?"

Canada looked from Britain then down to his unconscious brother, "I should let him tell you. It was his idea."

Britain rolled his eyes, "The git was probably trying to throw some lame party again."

Canada laughed, "No… That wasn't it." His voice trailed off as he fell off into sleep.

Britain stared down at the two sleeping nations with a mixture of feelings... some stronger than others. The brothers hadn't been together in some time. It reminded Britain of when they had been fledgling nations under his wing. He rolled his eyes to break himself out of the sentimentality. With the two of them sick there would be plenty of extra work to do, and now he had to find out what America had been planning.

Author's Note: There's chapter one. I haven't written in some time so here I go again.  
Reviews and Critiques are always appreciated.


	2. of oven mitts and escapades

Author Notes: I do not own Hetalia.

Reviews/Critiques are always welcome.

**Chapter 2**  
~of oven mitts and escapades~

America flailed haphazardly on his side of the bed. Luckily for Canada the mattress didn't transfer motion, and the younger brother was currently sleeping through the mini battle occurring next to him. In the back of his mind America made a note of that fact. The ability to sleep through this kind of noise could lead to a few good pranks later on, but at the moment America had more pressing issues, "Dude. You can't do this to me! It has to be against the Geneva Convention."

"Stop your insistent whining! Canada is still asleep! That's a bloody miracle in itself! He must have developed that ability while being raised around you!" Britain yelled from his place next to the bed.

America let out a snicker of amusement as he lay in bed, "You're the one who's shouting, Bro." He hardly ever saw the older nation anymore, and when he did see him it was business this and business that. Seeing his older brother and father figure so stressed out over something so small was amusing. This would eventually become a treasured memory.

On the other hand Britain was not treasuring the moment. He glared down at America, a vein throbbing in his forehead, "I would not BE shouting if you would stop fidgeting and GIVE ME YOUR DAMN HAND! You are BLEEDING ON THE SHEETS!" Britain fumed off to America's right side. The ill git was grating on all of his nerves.

"No! It's like being a prisoner, Bro. I can't do it." America held his left hand as far away from Britain as he could. America's left hand loomed over the middle of the mattress and out of Britain's reach.

This little escapade had been going on for a while now.

Britain had come into the room for an hourly check on the two sick youngsters, and what sight greeted him?

Canada was still fast asleep, God bless the quiet nation, but not his older brother.  
Oh, No. America was wide awake and scratching. The red blisters were now covering every inch of Alfred's body and causing extreme discomfort. Britain had to admit America looked like a red spotted mess in all honesty, but in a futile attempt to relieve the itching America had been thrown into a scratching craze. Britain had only left the two alone for fifty some odd minutes. Britain had been Gobsmacked to come back and find America scratching his skin until the point it was raw and bleeding. Arthur could tell the daft nation had obviously scratched at his face and neck due to the bright red lines that covered the areas, but at least America wasn't bleeding from those blisters… yet.

However America had managed to scratch his arms to shreds. Long, superficial scratch marks welled blood, but America didn't seem to notice or care as he continued scratching at the blisters on his arms.

Britain knew he had to take extreme measures. So he remembered this age old remedy. By placing simple oven mitts on the hands of the patient, the patient would still be able to somewhat relieve their itchiness without the threat of nails scratching the blisters open.

Arthur had put the first oven mitt on easily enough. He simply walked over to the uncomfortable nation, grabbed his right wrist, as it was the closest, and shoved the oven mitt on. Britain knew America couldn't be trusted to leave it on when he left the room, so as an extra precaution Britain had taped the mitt carefully in place by wrapping duct tape around America's wrist a few good times. All was well, for America had been confused about what his elder brother was doing. However, as soon as America realized what was going on he had turned it into a battle over his left hand, and so here they were.

America lay on his back squirming still holding his left hand out over the mattress and far away from Britain's clutches. A momentary movement gave Britain hope and he swiped out to grab America's hand. "Gawd Blimey!" Britain yelled once more as America pulled his hand away and out of his reach.

Britain was growing fed up with the current situation. Restrategizing he looked down at the oven mitt he was holding in his clenched fists. Abandoning all acts of gentlemanly behavior, which he admitted to himself was not uncommon around his former colony, Britain raised the oven mitt to his mouth and bit it. Holding the object of debate securely with his teeth Britain lunged onto the bed and after his intended target. It wasn't like America could go anywhere.

Britain's legs came crashing down across America's chest as he lay half sprawled out in a desperate attempt to grab his little brother's hand. Worried about securing the flailing appendage Britain was unaware of how he was currently crushing his charge. With a muffled shout of victory Britain was finally able to reach out and grab onto America's wrist, tightly.

America's eyes bugged when Britain suddenly leapt over him. There was nothing he could do as Britain came crashing down haphazardly. Britain's legs slammed across America's ribcage and forced all the air from his lungs. With his brother on top of him Alfred was struggling to breathe "D-dude!" America wheezed out in a chocked voice, "a-air!" With his older brother crushing his rib cage America's current focus switched from keeping his hand away from Britain to getting Britain off so he could breathe. Superhuman strength was great, but it seemed his strength was greatly reduced when he was ill and suffocating. He was happy neither scenario happened that often. He pushed Britain as best he could, but his older brother didn't budge an inch.

Britain shoved the younger nations arm under his arm pit and held the squirming appendage in place. "Mmph Mph U Mmphy Mmedit!" Britain yelled through the oven mitt. Roughly translated the older nation was saying _I've got you, bloody idiot_! With America's hand held in place he ripped the oven mitt out of his mouth and shoved it onto the fidgeting hand.

A roll of duck tape hung around Britain's wrist like a silver bracelet. He used one hand to hold the role up to his mouth. Ripping a corner of duck tape loose with his teeth he quickly began to tape the oven mitt onto America. Half crazed by America's antics Britain was unaware he was going overboard with the duck tape. He had gone well passed simply taping the oven mitt onto his annoying charge. Instead America's left hand was officially plastered in a silver-gray cast. The sight gave Britain a gleam of victory and seeing a job well done Britain climbed off of his brother and back onto the floor.

Flailing two taped up hands America whined, "THIS SUCKS DUDE! You can't leave me like this! It itches! You can't torture me! I have rights!"

"Well if you had not scratched your arms until you were bleeding. I would not have resorted to this, you wanker!" Britain retorted. He huffed and glared down at America. He had half a mind to just tape Alfred's mouth shut then and there.

Regaining his composure Britain reached up and began to flatten out his wrinkled clothing. He straightened his green vest and the long sleeved shirt he wore beneath it. He tried to remember when America had been a child. Had he been such a handful back then? Britain paused for a moment as old memories surfaced, but he brushed away the sentimentality like the wrinkles in his clothing. He really didn't have time to reminisce on the past with America's arms still bleeding; it was a superficial injury to be sure, but it still needed attending to.

"Alfred… he's only helping you." Canada mumbled from across the bed.

"Well! Look at that!" Britain raised his arms in Canada's direction, and then let them fall to his side in agitation, "You woke him up! Way to go, Alfred!" Britain chastised.

America had ceased flailing and turned to look at his younger brother. In turn Canada turned to look at America and couldn't help a quiet laugh, "You look ridiculous."

America rolled his blue eyes up at the ceiling. The battle of the oven mitts had been lost fair and square, but still itching rather profusely, he took his oven mitt hands and tried to go back to scratching his bleeding arms.

Britain's aura seemed to explode around him, "I swear if you keep on scratching I will send you to France's house!"

America grumbled and flopped around like a boneless fish. With the oven mitts on scratching wasn't doing any good. He fidgeted uncomfortably on the bed for a few more minutes and the settled down, staring up at the dull ceiling.

Britain let out a heavy sigh, letting his growing frustrations go. He was surprised that in all the years of having a younger brother, America hadn't killed him from simple stress. Needing a momentary break Britain turned. He walked out of the room to go retrieve the first aid kit.

Canada stared at America from across the bed. His eyes followed Britain's retreating form and then went to his sick brother, "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I itch. I scratch." America glared up at the ceiling. He was still slightly miffed about the situation. He wasn't upset about the oven mitts, and he felt rather grateful Britain cared so much. He simply felt crappy, and he was descending into a realm of frustration as his body continued to itch relentlessly and the world around him swam through a fever induced fog.

Sitting up in bed Canada's eyes shot open when he saw blood on his brother's arms, "What did you do to yourself? Alfred, you could get an infection."

"No way, Mattie. I'm not going to do that." America said like the words could ward off all ill side effects. His vision traveled down to his hands, and he started to think about ways to pull the oven-mitts off.

Canada could see that his brother was planning escape from the oven mitts. He shook his head in disapproval. Britain would be furious if he took those oven mitts off, and America really did need them. Canada reached out putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. He was going to distract America from his oven-mitt escape plans, but Canada frowned when he felt feverish heat through America's shirt, "Your fever is still pretty high. We should wrap those wounds so they don't get infected. "

"I have that covered." Britain strolled back into the room with a first aid kit in hand. The minute long break had calmed his nerves, but now he looked depressed. He came over sitting on the edge of the bed, "Now let me get this antiseptic cream on here. I also brought some anti-itch cream. I'm only right down the hall. You didn't need to do this to yourself. I could have helped you." The older brother sighed as he reached out and dabbed the clear ointment on America's arm with a gauze pad. Although the high strung git could easily aggravate him, it didn't mean he wanted to see America bleeding. He was never fond of times when his little brother was injured.

It was Britain's tones that made America turn and look at his crestfallen older brother. He hadn't seen Britain looking so depressed in quite a while, "Hey bro, it wasn't like that." He looked down at his arms. They were a nasty looking sight, but it wasn't anyone's fault but his own. He had been so busy trying to relieve the itchiness he hadn't noticed what he was doing to himself, "I just didn't think about asking for help. I'm the hero, dude. I can handle this. It's no big deal. Chill out."

Britain turned and stared into America's eyes with a serious expression, "I'm warning you. I have a mallet downstairs, and I am not afraid to use it. Next time you mess yourself up like this I will not hold back." His serious expression had melted away into a smirk by the end of his statement. It was hard to tell if was kidding or not.

"Not funny, Bro." America held his arm out to Britain. He lay quietly as his older brother worked at repairing the damage he'd caused.

The room fell into silence as Britain worked, and America stared off into space. Canada looked from Britain and then stared down at America. He was silently trying to will Alfred to broach the topic of Arthur's birthday, but the message wasn't getting through. Probably because America's maple tree was lacking a few leaves as the saying went. Canada was trying to decide what he should do. America looked like his thoughts were off in oblivion, but now was a great chance to ask about Arthur's birthday. Staring from across the bed for a few minutes Canada finally decided on a way to bring the topic up on his own. He hoped America would get the hint and say something, "So Arthur do you have anything important coming up? Any parties or anything? Any special occasions? Anything fun?" _That covers everything_, Canada thought to himself.

Britain was unwrapping gauze for America's arm when Canada posed his question. Without bothering to change his focus or look up he shook his head, "Not that I can think of. It has been very nice, having a relaxing New Years."

Alfred was still off in a world of oblivion, and Canada wondered how to dig deeper into the subject of Arthur's birthday without simply coming out and asking the question. He didn't want to be the one to bring it up since this whole thing had been Alfred's idea. He also didn't want to mention birthdays specifically because that topic could cause arguments between the older nation and his former colony. Canada let out a heavy sigh as he hit a road block, but he finally decided to go ahead with his line of questioning. If he asked about anyone's birthday in general maybe the conversation could casually be steered towards finding more info about Arthur's birthday. He hoped Alfred would join in. He said a silent prayer that the topic of birthdays wouldn't start an argument and then quietly threw the question out into the room, "I wonder who's having a birthday soon."

"Just what I need another party." Britain mumbled and then fell silent once more as he mummified America, "I'm wrapping these tight so just leave your arms alone."

Canada rolled his eyes. That hadn't worked. At least it hadn't started an argument. He saw that Britain was distracted with his task at hand, and while he was looking away Canada slid his foot across the bed and gently kicked out at America's leg. America blinked coming out of his daze and looked over at his brother. Canada bobbed his head towards the English gentleman as a way of motioning America to ask his question. Seeming to get the hint America took one look at Britain and found him completely distracted with his current task. America mouthed back, 'Now? We can't do it right now. We're stuck in bed. We can't even go and get his presents. That'd be the worst surprise party ever.'

Canada rolled his eyes and gently kicked his brother once again, 'Just ask him about his birthday.' He mouthed back.

'No' America reached out his foot kicking out at his younger brother in retaliation. He hit Canada and soon the two were involved in an all out kicking war. Britain was brought out of the ramblings of his mind as his patient rolled over and started kicking his younger brother with both legs, "What are you two doing? Stop that!"

"He started it." America mumbled.

"Oh, I doubt that." Britain replied in a sarcastic tone.

"He did!" America yelled back in an undignified manner.

Canada let out a humph. He cocked his head to the side and away from America.

Britain took the lack of confession as proof of the older brother's guilt, "Don't lie."

"ARGH!" America sat up, grabbed his pillow up, and chunked it at Canada. Hitting his brother in the back of the head America fell back onto the mattress crossing his arms over his chest in silent aggravation.

Britain was about to lecture the two younger nations when the grumble of an empty stomach echoed across the room. Canada's face turned bright red from embarrassment as he continued to silently stare off at a far wall.

Britain looked over to the younger brother. Then it hit him. The two had been in bed most of the day, and they had traveled that morning, "Are you two hungry? Should I make soup?"

"Wha-Wha- Huh?" America blinked looking over at his caretaker in a bit of shock, "Dude your cooking blows. Let's order a pizza."

"Can I have some maple syrup and pancakes?" Canada piped in.

"Bloody hell…" Britain stood up, turned on his heels, and walked out of the room, exasperated. As his footsteps trailed off down the hallway he yelled back towards the guest room, "I'll bring up soup in a little bit, and it will be delicious! And no more fighting! Get some rest!"

The guest room was quiet for a few more minutes. Eventually Canada reached out and grabbed the pillow America had tossed at him. After a minute or so he handed his brother's pillow back to him. Then he lay back down in the bed pulling the sheets up to his chin. The two brothers lay for a moment of quiet, but it wasn't going to last. If it had been up to Canada he would have happily stayed underneath the warm sheets, but he heard the sound of covers being pulled back and then feet hitting the floor. The younger brother didn't even open his eyes for the upcoming question. He just squint his eyebrows together in silent deliberation and prayed that America was simply going to the bathroom.

Finally he asked, "What are you doing, Alfred?"

"Bro, He's totally downstairs! This means I can go look for clues about his birthday! He has to have a calendar or planner, right!? Everyone marks their birthday. It's like an unwritten rule. So stay here and distract him if you hear him coming."

Nope. That definitely wasn't the answer he'd wanted. Canada sighed opening his eyes again. He turned to look over at America who was sitting up in bed, "Alfred, I know you're excited and want to know, but if he catches you going through his stuff he'll be angry. Just ask him when he comes back."

"No way, Bro. Imagine if I can actually find the day! I bet that'd surprise him. I can write it in his card! I'll tell him this is a pre-birthday celebration for all we've missed, and we'll be back on whatever day his real birthday is on! Won't he be surprised?"

_Yes, let him find you looking through his things. He'll be surprised all right_. Canada sighed heavily. He knew he wouldn't be able to dissuade Alfred from doing this.

"It's the perfect idea! Ok. I'll go search. You distract."

Seeing as any debate would fall on deaf ears Canada decided it was best to just go along with the invasion of privacy. The worst that could happen was Arthur would be furious and Alfred would have to come clean, and on a long list of brotherly crimes this wasn't a code red infraction. Sure the invasion of privacy would be ill received, but when Arthur found out why Alfred wanted to do this he'd know America's intentions were pure hearted, albeit somewhat misguided. That's why he didn't bother with a second attempt to talk his overzealous brother out of this particular hare-brained scheme. "Ok. I'll distract him, but hurry up."

America looked to his silver hands and then over to Canada, "I'll have to get a pair of scissors to get these things off too. Mattie, I'll need your help. I'll be right back."

Canada was about to tell America he wouldn't be an accomplice to that particular crime when he heard a dull THUD.

Canada rolled over onto his side to see that his brother had disappeared from view, "Alfred!" He pushed himself up off of the bed just in time to see his brother's hand shoot up from the direction of the floor, "I'm ok." America grumbled, "Stupid fever."

Canada crawled to the other side of the bed and looked down at his brother with a worried expression, "You don't look so good. You should really get some rest. Worry about the birthday stuff later."

Sitting on the edge of the bed Canada reached out and placed his hand on his older brother's forehead, "Why is your fever so much worse than mine? I don't feel good, but you look awful. Your rash is worse too."

America put his oven mitt hands on the floor and attempted to push himself up. Unfortunately moving wasn't working so well. The room was tilting slightly and the fever was zapping his strength.

"Hold on. I'll help you." Canada stood up and knelt down on his knees beside his brother.

"Thanks Mattie." America's voice was oddly quiet, most likely hushed from embarrassment.

"No problem." Canada smiled at his decrepit brother. "Listen to Britain. Relax and just get some rest." He wrapped his arm around his brother and then had to practically lift the dizzy nation off of the floor. He hadn't had to help America around like this since the great depression. Thank God that it wasn't nearly as serious this time.

America had little choice but to listen and lay back down on the bed as his brother grabbed the covers and pulled them up to his chin, but a troubling thought kept crossing his mind, "Mattie I left the birthday bags downstairs. What if he finds them?"

"That would ruin the surprise. That's for sure." Canada finished situating the sheets around America and then walked around the mattress to his side of the bed. He fell back onto the mattress and quickly settled back in. Canada had barely pulled the sheets back over his body when America started to fidget once more.

"I have to go get them. I should go hide them." America half heartedly tugged at the sheets like he wanted to pull them off.

"You can't even stand up straight, Alfred. Calm down. It'll be fine." Canada watched his brother to make sure he didn't attempt standing again.

America fumed on his side of the bed, but his strength was fading and soon he stopped his struggles. He lay on the bed quietly staring at the door to the room, "Ugh! This sucks so much! This stupid chicken disease is ruining my plans! If he finds those presents there won't be a surprise."

"Don't worry. If he finds them, he finds them. I'm sure he'd come ask us about them. Then we can reveal the surprise." Canada tried to calm his brother, "There's nothing we can do about it. So try to relax. Get some sleep, Alfred. You need it."

America fell off into silence, and eventually Canada dosed off once more.

America heard Canada's breathing slow down as he fell off into slumber.

Then it was quiet… to quiet….

America tried to relax. He tried to sleep, but his mind kept going back to the two presents sitting on the table downstairs. His blue eyes continued to stare off at the door. The gears in his brain turned as he plotted ways to go and retrieve the birthday presents. If Britain was cooking; he had a little while before Britain would leave the kitchen. He would have to get downstairs, grab the presents, and get back upstairs within a time limit. And he needed a fool proof plan.

With a slight rush of adrenaline in his system he felt a little bit better already. At least the room had stopped spinning. Slowly he sat up in bed and quietly put his feet on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Canada and made sure he was still asleep. It was now or never….


	3. Journey to the living room

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.  
Warnings: There's some blood and cursing in this chapter.**

This is just a bromance fic. I won't go into romantic pairings.  
Why? I'm not really a romantic type person. I wanted this to a more humorous/family fic

**Chapter 3**  
~journey to the living room~

America slowly stood up off of the bed. He tested his ability to stand upright by shifting his body weight from one leg to another. Luckily, he didn't go crashing to the floor. A triumphant smirk found its way onto his face. All systems were a go. He put one foot out in front of his body and took a small step forward. Slowly he started to creep towards the door. He took another step, and as his weight shifted a loud creak filled the room as old wood strained beneath the pressure. He mumbled a curse under his breath, taking a quick look over his shoulder. He found his brother still fast asleep. He crossed his fingers and continued his journey. He knew Canada would lecture him if he found out about this, but this was something he had to do.

He came to the threshold of the guest room and walked out into the hallway. As he was crossing the hall he stumbled. He careened forward and crashed against the far wall of the hallway. He put both of his oven mitt hands on the wall for support.

He nervously looked back into the guestroom. Canada was still fast asleep, and America took it as a sign that his plan would succeed. With both hands on the wall for support he inched his way down the hall. Determination was etched into his face, but half way down the hall his determination was slightly dampened by a dizzy spell. He felt himself leaning more and more on the wall as he waited for it to pass.

_Seriously!? Now I get dizzy._

"When I get home I'm going to go to KFC and eating everything!" He grumbled out loud.

Slowly the world returned to normal, and America looked down the hallway again. He set his sights on the doorway to Britain's study. Leaning against the wall he sluggishly moved towards his goal. After what felt like a waterless trek across the Sahara, America made it to the threshold of Britain's office. He stood there for a second and stared at the doorknob. It was better than presents on Xmas really, or it would have been if he had more time to nose through his brother's things. He'd never had such a perfect opportunity to explore Britain's office, probably because Britain knew him well, and watched him for espionage attempts when he was over. Eyes sparkling, America reached down and placed his hand on the doorknob. Much to his mortification he quickly discovered a problem with his plan. His oven mitt hands slid right off of the circular doorknob.

"Dude, you've got to be kidding me!" He tried to grasp the handle again, but the end result was the same.

"Oh, Come on!" He put both of his oven mitt hands on the doorknob and shook it violently. Unfortunately, this also failed to open the door. Eyebrows knitting together, America stared down his inanimate foe for a moment. Then he positioned himself directly in front of the knob and worked furiously to use his slippery hands to turn the device. It took multiple tries, more foul words, and eventually both hands and a little chin, but finally the door creaked open.

America walked inside the room like a kid in a candy shop. He looked at the neatly placed books on a nearby bookshelf all alphabetically arranged, a desk organizer, and a neatly piled stack of papers on Britain's large oak desk.

"He keeps his place way to clean." America mumbled as he made his way over to the desk and sat down in the black, leather swivel chair. He searched the desk top and found two instruments to aid in his oven mitt escape attempts - scissors and a dagger shaped letter opener.

_This letter opener is awesome_, thought America as he stared at it. It was a small knife. Thin, gold with a large green jewel encrusted on the hilt of the weapon, "Bro, did you use this when you were a pirate?" America had to momentarily wonder out loud. He simply knocked the letter opener from its holder and onto the desk top. He couldn't use the scissors without first freeing one of his hands. He'd cut himself loose with the letter opener, and then use the scissors.

He had a fool proof plan for getting free. He reached out and slid the letter opener to the edge of the desk. Unable to grasp it in his hands he took another approach. He slid the hilt of the weapon over the edge of the desk and held the sheath steady against the desk top using his oven mitt hands. He leaned down and grabbed the handle of the blade with his teeth and managed to pull the dagger out of its sheath. With weapon in mouth he tilted his head and began to slice at the duck tape covering his right wrist. Britain hadn't wrapped his right wrist nearly as much as his left one.

America soon realized how annoying it was to accurately position cuts while trying to cut something off to the side. Determined he kept working at cutting himself free. Unfortunately, every bob of his head was making him dizzier. He wasted more time than he wanted trying to cut himself free of the blasted oven mitt. He was almost done cutting the last piece of tape when a dizzy spell caused him to crash back into the chair. The letter opener fell out of his mouth and made a loud clatter as it came to rest on the floor.

America squeezed his eyes shut. He really didn't want to see the world tilting to and fro. It took a few minutes of leaning back and relaxing before he could open his eyes again. Unable to move his body for a few more moments he lay slumped in the chair. He let his eyes wander around the room. Britain's office didn't have anything interesting in it other than the pirate letter opener. The walls were bare, the bookshelf was neatly organized, and the window shades were plain. He stared ahead at the bookshelf in front of him and looked at the plainly colored books. He really had to buy Britain some posters or something.

Slowly and stubbornly he raised his wrist to his mouth. He had already cut the duck tape significantly. He was so close to freedom. If he tried a little bit harder he could get it off. He held his wrist in front of his mouth and bit at the cloth tape. A few minutes later and he had gnawed himself free. He chunked the oven mitt carelessly onto the floor and quickly reached out grabbing the scissors. Scissors in hand he made quick work of the second oven mitt.

"Seriously hope he didn't want those back." America grumbled as he placed the 2nd cut up oven mitt on Britain's desk. He held out both of his hands and wiggled his fingers making sure they still worked.

Finally he was able to look through his brothers things. He examined Britain's desk. He pulled at the middle drawer of the desk only to find it locked. He raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, but he moved on.

He reached out and opened the side drawer to his right. He found post it notes, highlighters, pens, pencils, every kind of paper on the blue Earth, but no agenda. He continued downward to a large cabinet drawer and started rooting through manila envelope after manila envelope. He found a half empty bottle of scotch tucked away in the far back corner of his brother's desk. That raised another eyebrow. He pulled the scotch bottle from its hiding place. Had he felt like walking he would've gotten up and hidden the alcohol far away from its original spot, but since he **didn't** fell like walking he simply grabbed a few blank manila envelopes from Britain's desk, wrapped them around the bottle, and dumped the 'package' in the trashcan which was located beside the desk. Then he continued rummaging through drawers.

He was quickly running out of places to search. The whole time he kept an eye out for the key to the locked desk drawer. Eventually, he found it hiding in the bottom, left desk drawer. A triumphant smile overtook his face. "I hope there's something in here." He put the key in the locked drawer and disengaged the latch. He had hoped to find an agenda or calendar. Anything with information really, but Alfred's head cocked to the side in confusion as he pulled the drawer open. It was stuffed with miscellaneous trinkets.

Knick Knacks and a few dozen Happy Birthday Cards littered the inside of the locked drawer. America's eyes lit up. Hopefully one of them would be a card for Britain's birthday and hopefully it would be dated via the postmark. The twinkle in his eyes died down a bit when he realized all the cards were blank. He pulled out a blank card, examined it, and then tossed it on top of Britain's desk, "Dude. Does he buy them in bulk? That's so lame." He flicked another blank card onto the desk. Some seemed to be funny, some seemed more sentimental, a few showed fireworks, and a couple were still wrapped in plastic.

"Really bro? You stock pile a card for every birthday occasion?" He sighed leaning back in the office chair once again. All these stupid birthday cards and his brother couldn't find the time to post mark him one? Britain could be informal and just send him a card... A blank card postmarked from Britain… anything…. It would've been ok with America. Well, not ok but a starting point. He still sent his older brother birthday invitations, but he'd stopped expecting anything a long time ago. One too many fights with Britain had taught America he would have to wait for his older brother to come around. He would always wait, and he'd always make sure his brother knew he was welcome at the Fourth of July celebration, but he didn't push Britain to come anymore. Not like he used to.

With a heavy sigh he pushed himself out of his nostalgic thoughts, "Well that didn't help. I didn't find anything."

He continued to search the room with his blue eyes and eventually came to stare at a filing cabinet off in the corner. Not much for walking he slid out of the chair like a gelatinous substance and onto the floor. His dizziness was coming back in waves, and he didn't feel like collapsing again. At least this way he wouldn't fall so far if his body gave out again. Crawling across the room America stopped at the base of the filing cabinet and pulled the bottom drawer open. He rustled through the papers and rummaged through some folders. Most of it was boring strategic information. Annoyed with the failure America stuffed the papers messily back into the filing cabinet and forced the door shut because it no longer closed properly. America was oblivious to the trail he was leaving in Britain's office. His brain wasn't registering the fact that he was making a mess… because of his fever or not was unclear.

Disappointed with the office raid America retreated back into the hallway by crawling through the office door.

The smart thing would have been to crawl back towards the guest room. He was starting to feel worse and worse. He raised his hand to his forehead and wiped off his sweat covered brow. He couldn't go back yet. The birthday bags were still downstairs. They were just a little ways ahead, down some stairs, and across a room. _It's ok. I'm making progress._ He reassured himself. _Heroes do whatever they need to do, to get the job done. I'm the biggest hero of them all. I have to keep going._ He'd fought wars that were worse than this. He could make it downstairs. No problem. Of course when he had fought those wars the world hadn't been tilting horridly on its axis.

Crawling down the hallway America soon found himself at the top of the stairs staring down at the room he so desperately desired to be in. He looked out across the living room and spotted the two bags still sitting in the place he'd left them. The American and Canadian themed gift bags were clearly visible from the top of the stairs. The only thing standing between him and the presents were a flight of stairs and a severe case of vertigo which he attributed to his steadily rising fever, but he hadn't come this far to give up now.

He stared down at the stairs below. Deciding that standing would be a bad idea America reached out his right hand and slowly started to crawl his way down the stairs. The entrance to the kitchen was a few feet beyond the base of the stairs, and America could hear Britain chanting in the kitchen.

_What is he doing? Cooking or concocting witches brew? Summoning some ancient evil?_

Slowly descending the stairs America was stopped in his tracks when his ears started to ring "This really blows…." America mumbled as the ringing started growing steadily louder. He raised his hand to his temple. _My head isn't supposed to feel that hot, is it?_ Gently he tapped at his ear like it would cause the ringing sound to stop.

He wasn't expecting the world to suddenly tilt sharply forward. He felt himself leaning at an odd angle. He reached out to quickly grab one of the banister poles on the staircase, but instead his hand sailed between them. He knew what was coming next, even before he went cart wheeling down the staircase. His last thought before he crashed into one of the stairs below was at least a thought of happiness. He was glad he hadn't worn his glasses for this.

Arthur had spent the past thirty minutes cooking chicken broth, slicing chicken breast, and cutting some assorted vegetables for his ailing patients. He was nearly done. He quietly sung an old cooking chant he'd learned ages ago as he picked the pot up off the stove and began to stir it without the fire from the burners. Even if his food was not often… or ever… considered the best tasting, this particular cooking session was going extremely well. It was so relaxing in the kitchen. He was free of his troublesome patient for a moment, and the time away was relaxing his nerves. It was so relaxing that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud **thu-thunk-thunk-thunk **echoed from the room next door. Part of the soup he had worked so hard to make went sloshing out of the pot.

"Bloody H-!" He turned to stare at the wall where the offending sound had come from. He had no idea what had happened on the other side of the wall, but he had a sinking feeling he knew who was behind the noise.

"I swear if you are out of bed, I am going to strangle you!" Britain yelled as he quickly started to march towards the living room. His thick eyebrows were already twitching. He was unsure what he expected to find in the living room, but he certainly never expected what he saw. He was so shocked by the sight before him that he dropped the pot of soup on the floor. There was a loud crash as the pot hit the floor. and its contents spilled. The cooking pot went rolling away and out of sight, but Britain didn't bother a second look at it. He ran out of the kitchen.

"Bloody hell! What have you done!?" Britain yelled as he ran to his former colony's side, "America!" He went to his knees by his fallen brother's form at the bottom of the staircase.

America was sprawled out at the bottom of the staircase in a very uncomfortable looking way. He was angled at his diaphragm with the upper part of his body on the floor, and the lower part of his body still on the stairs. America's face was firmly plastered against the floor. One of his arms was lying out in front of him, and his second arm was lying at his side still on the staircase. His legs lay sprawled out uncomfortably up the stairs.

Britain was gobsmacked for a second time that day. An odd quietness filled the room, but it was soon interrupted.

"Bro, I think I broke my face!" America's voice was muffled from being smashed against the floor. America slowly moved his fingers, wrist, and then arms. He ran through a body part checklist and was glad to realize everything still worked with relative ease. He slowly pulled his arms from their different locations and went to place his hands on the floor. He was getting ready to push himself up when Britain yelled, "No!"The older nation slammed his hands on America's back in order to keep him still. Britain was quickly coming back to his senses, "Stay still! Wait a minute! You could have broken something."

Alfred stopped trying to push himself up into a seated position, but he did raise his face up off the floor. He looked over at Britain with a dazed expression, "Hey Bro? Since when do you have a twin?"

"Blimey!" Britain yelled when he took a second look at America's face and found blood trailing from his nose like a waterfall, "Bullocks! You're bleeding again! What were you thinking!? You stupid Arse! You broke your nose!"

America blinked. He tried to cross his eyes in attempt to look at his nose. He didn't seem to believe Britain. He couldn't feel any pain from his nose at the moment. There had been pain a few minutes ago, but now he couldn't feel any at all.

_Adrenaline, good stuff._America thought to himself. That thought was cut short when he felt something strange running down his face. A moment later America reached up to touch his chin. He felt something wet. His fingers traveled up his face following the moisture trail. A moment later he brushed his hand over his nose. Painful realization came when he pulled his hand sharply away from his nose and saw blood. A moment later his adrenaline started to fade, "OW! BRO! OW!" He tried to take in a pain filled breath, but he quickly discovered breathing through his nose was impossible at the moment because of the amount of blood gushing from it. He felt a slight panic at not being able to inhale, "Bro! Can't- Can't Breath. Not Good! Not Good!"

"Calm down! Breathe through your mouth!" Britain reached out putting his hands on his brother's shoulders to keep him from squirming. Britain was much more concerned for his brother's spine or neck than his nose. It was true that these physical injuries wouldn't kill a nation. America wasn't so bad off, that he was anywhere close to dying, but he could still be injured, and the older English gentleman was quickly growing tired of seeing the younger nation wound himself, " Does anything _else_ hurt? A nose is an easy fix!" He tried to look for any protrusions or oddly angled appendages. He couldn't spot anything extremely abnormal, but he did notice America's left wrist was starting to swell and turn a purplish, blue color. Britain also took note of a knot starting to form on the side of America's head.

America shook his head no, "I- I don't think anything else is broken, but everything kind of hurts. I got my hand caught in the banister on the way down."

Britain looked up the staircase. Carrying Alfred up the stairs like this would be extremely difficult. Plus the twat was bleeding onto the floor. He didn't want a trail of blood in his home. Britain shot a look to his couch. He could put him there and further assess Alfred's condition, "Ok. Listen. I am going to get you to the couch, and then I will go get you some ice and a towel for your nose."

"Mm-hmm…" America mumbled as he lay his cheek back down against the floor and started to doze off on the cold tile.

"Alfred! Oh no! You're not going to sleep now! Wake up you git!" He shook his brother's shoulders. Britain felt a little reassured that America hadn't broken anything major. Well, he may have broken whatever brain he had left, but other than that America would recover.

"Hey. I'm finally sleepy, bro. seriously; I could take a nap now. Like right here." America brought his arms up to his face and tried to make them into a cushion.

"I wonder why!" Britain shook America by his shoulders once more," Now wake up!" He positioned his hands under Alfred's arms. A moment later Britain was pulling Alfred off of the stairs and then helping/lifting the younger nation up. "I swear you're going on a diet when all this is over!" Britain strained once more under America's weight.

America felt Britain supporting most of his weight. He was glad. His vertigo was acting up again and he felt unstable, not to mention miserable. While the pair were making their way across the living room America suddenly became aware of a wetness collecting on his shirt. Alfred looked down at his T-shirt. He realized blood from his nose was dripping off of his chin and onto his shirt. It would most likely never come out.

"Bro," America said in a defeated voice. His blue eyes stared down at the growing red stain on his American flag themed shirt, "I really liked this shirt."

"Then call it a sacrifice for your stupidity! I swear! What were you thinking! Or were you!?" Britain yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Ouch. That's harsh Bro." As they reached the couch America happily fell onto it. He was ready to doze off.

"Now you stay there! Don't go to sleep." Britain yelled at America as he ran off into the kitchen.

America watched Britain vanish into the other room and couldn't believe his luck. His blue eyes twinkled in their feverish, concussed glaze as he turned to the two presents on the table. Britain was so freaked out he hadn't spotted them. America reached out to grab the presents, but because of his double vision his hand only grabbed open air, "Crap!" He yelled. He was so close. He refused to let a concussion stop him when he was mere feet away. He reached out a few more times and finally grabbed the two bags. Unable to take them upstairs he shoved the two bags beneath the couch and out of sight and not a moment too soon.

Britain ran back into the room with medical supplies in hand and shoved a kitchen towel over America's face. The elder nation had cleaned up more than one accident in his time. Britain made short work of the mess that was America's face. He wiped the blood off and discarded the towel to the side, and then he shoved cotton balls up his former colonies nose to stave the bleeding. Then Britain moved on to his next task. He had two ice packs. He gave one ice pack to America and had him hold it on his swelling wrist. Britain took the second ice pack and held it on top of Alfred's nose.

With all the medicinal practices in place he took another look at his former colony and glared daggers. What was he supposed to tell others about this situation? Who would believe someone could be so foolhardy and do this to themselves? America was sitting on the couch not seeming to realize that he looked a fright. He was covered in red spots, both arms wrapped up tight, ice pack on his left swelling wrist, blood on his shirt, and a black and blue bruise was spreading out from the bridge of his nose in all directions. Britain's rage was near uncontrollable.

It did not help Britain's temper when he looked at America's face and saw a huge grin of triumph plastered across the feverish face. There was no logical reason for such a grin at a time like this. America was smiling like he had just won a gold medal at hockey in the Olympics, yet he physically looked like he had just lost a battle in World War 3.

A vein in Britain's forehead throbbed as he stared at America's goofy face. Britain failed to realize he was slowly increasing pressure on the ice pack he held against America's nose.

America immediately felt more pain as Britain began shoving the ice pack against his nose with more force, "DUDE! OWOWOWOWOWOW! Bro, that hurts!" He tried to pull away, but he was lying on the couch by this point. There really wasn't anywhere to go.

Britain continued to glare daggers down at the ailing nation. Over the past few minutes his face had soured. America, like always, had failed to notice the change in Britain's mood. Britain was now convinced that America would be fine, even if he looked like a train wreck. As such Britain found himself experiencing a strong urge to kill the thorn in his side. The bloody fool had nearly given him a heart attack!

Britain reached out his one free hand and grabbed America by his ear. Britain twisted it, hard.

"OW!" America yelled, "Bro! Injured here! OW!" He yelled in a squeaking voice because of the problems with his nose.

Britain didn't release America's ear, "You're going to tell me what you were thinking." All things considered, Britain was speaking in an eerily calm voice.

It was the voice that made America open his eyes and stare at the two double vision versions of his older brother, "uh…" He really didn't have anything to say to that. He couldn't outright explain himself, but Arthur was about to twist his ear off. In all his years he'd hardly ever seen the older nation looking so displeased.

Still in a calm voice Britain prompted once more, "I'm waiting Alfred Foster* Jones."

_Ouch. Full name. Never good when the full name is involved_, "Hey you remember my whole name. Way to- Ow! Ow! Britain that hurts!" He pivoted his head at an odd angle in order to relieve the pressure on his ear.

Britain wasn't getting any answers. As such he launched off into a rant, "You're going to give me an aneurism, Alfred! You could have seriously hurt yourself! You are sick, feverish, dizzy, bleeding, and now you have broken your nose! You may think you are a grown nation, but look at you! You are a disaster! You were never good at taking care of yourself!" _and you wonder why I didn't want you to be independent _"Why do you always push just a little too far? What was so important that you could not wait for me to come back upstairs?! What was so bloody important that you could not call me to help you down the bloody stairs!? Was it your stupid pride that kept you from asking for help!? That's just dandy! Now look at you!"

America's face fell a little bit. The younger nation never really enjoyed times when Britain lost his temper and started lecturing. _Ugh, another lecture._ America sighed as he took the tongue lashing. He couldn't tell Britain the real reason he hadn't asked for help. _Hey Bro, I was trying to sneak around so you wouldn't see your birthday presents. I was also looking for info on your birthday without your knowledge. I feel horrible and Canada is fast asleep, but now that you know how about a surprise party? I'll go make the cake._ He thought sarcastically to himself. He wasn't going to ruin this birthday surprise. Not after all this trouble! So he came up with a quick excuse, "I ugh… wanted to come ask you to order pizza again. I just thought I could make it down the stairs on my own. Sorry, Bro." America admitted it was a pathetic excuse, but at least it shut Britain up. It was the only thing America could think to say under such quick circumstances.

Britain dropped the ice pack from America's nose and simultaneously let go of America's ear. Britain smacked himself in the forehead in disbelief and a little bit of dismay, "Blimey. He is an idiot! He would kill himself for pizza!"

A moment later Canada gasped from behind Arthur. Matthew had walked into the room unnoticed. He had heard a loud thud and Britain's yelling all the way in the guestroom upstairs. He knew something had happened when he woke up and saw Alfred was gone. He had come downstairs to investigate the noises he had heard. He didn't expect to find his brother lying on the couch in such awful condition. He ran to his brother's side in shock, "Alfred! You're bleeding! or… You were bleeding! What happened?"

"It's nothing! Really! I'm fine!" America tried to downplay his condition again.

Canada stared at his brother in disbelief. It looked like someone had decked Alfred in all honesty. A momentary thought pushed its way into Matthew's head. He momentarily questioned if Arthur had punched Alfred for some reason. Canada quickly shook his head to clear the thought out. It took only a second to dismiss that idea. Britain had never hurt either of them like that, even when the two ambitious nations may have had it coming for some reason or another.

Britain turned from his spot on the couch and shot a rather rage filled look up at Canada. Then he whirled back on America, "Look!" Britain pointed at Canada," Now you have Canada sneaking out of bed! This is your fault!" Britain silently fumed on the edge of the couch.

"Dude! Chill!" America looked from Britain and up at Canada, "Bro, he's freaking out!" Alfred didn't know what to do at the moment. He couldn't deal with Britain's ranting with the raging headache and dizziness he was experiencing, and he silently begged Matthew to handle their raving father figure.

"Alfred! You look like someone tried to beat you up, and they won! What happened?" Canada rushed over and reached out taking the ice pack that had fallen from America's nose and onto his chest. Matthew carefully held it back on Alfred's nose to help reduce the bruising and swelling, "How did you break your nose?"

"I fell. That's all. I tumbled a little ways down the stairs." Unable to motion or move really America simply looked in the direction of the stairs.

"Eh?" Canada looked over to the staircase and after a second absorbed what his brother had said, "YOU WHAT!?" The Canadian cried in quiet horror. Canada stared at the stairs in disbelief and then back to his brother with the same disapproving look Britain had used, "Alfred! What were you thinking?" Canada said in a chastising voice.

America groaned on the couch, "Bro, not you too. Can we please, please move on? Britain's already covered all the lecturing! I just want to go to sleep!"

"I found him sprawled out at the bottom of the staircase. I thought he was a goner." Britain clutched at his heart as he fought to keep his temper in check. He pulled at the cloth material of his green sweater vest, twisting the fabric, "All for pizza." He said in a hopeless voice.

Canada's eyes widened when he turned and noticed that the birthday presents were nowhere to be seen. They weren't on the table where Alfred said they would be, and Britain hadn't mentioned his birthday. _Alfred must have managed to hide them somehow_, Canada thought to himself. _Britain still seems oblivious to the real reason why we came here_. Canada had no idea how Alfred had pulled it off, but this charade seemed to be doing more harm than good. As such Canada raised an eyebrow when he heard what Britain had said, "Pizza? Really Alfred? All this and you still haven't explained about the–"

"SHH!" America freaked out and started waving his hands around desperately to silence his brother. Unfortunately the motion caused his wrist to swing around and pain quickly raced from his fingertips and up his arm, "OW!" America cried and clutched the bruising wrist to his chest, "Crap! That hurts!"

Britain placed his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers. He brought his forehead down to rest on his hands. Britain could tell something else was afoot by the way the two brothers had started conversing, but he _**really**_ didn't care. He was at his wits end with the hyper America "Canada, can you please watch your brother? I need to go phone a doctor. I would like to know he will still be alive and in one piece when I come back. Heaven knows what he's done to himself. I think he has a concussion, and I hope his wrist isn't broken." Britain stood up and walked out of the room to place the call.

Canada took Britain's spot and sat down on the edge of the couch. He shot a glare at Alfred, "You realize that you won't get better if you don't rest, right?" He looked his brother over. He noticed a large knot forming on the side of Alfred's head. Canada held up three fingers in front of his brother's face, "How many fingers am I holding up, Alfred?"

"…" The silence was deafening. America blinked, squinted, and bit his bottom lip as he stared at Canada's hand, "Is this a trick question, bro? It's more like how many left hands do you have?"

"Well? How many fingers, Alfred?" Canada asked again. This time the northern nation was sounding a bit nervous.

"Uhm… Well." Alfred mumbled. He squinted again, "There's a…" He counted each finger quietly and hesitantly whispered, "Six? No, that's not right…. Best two out of three?"

With a heavy sigh, Matthew reached out placing his hand in his brother's hair, "If it's what you see, it's what you see, Al." He gently pushed his brother's messy hair aside to look at the lump on Alfred's head. Canada had suffered a few concussions and broken noses from hockey in his day. In his opinion America would be fine with some bed rest, "I'll go get another ice pack when Arthur comes back. I'd say you got this from smashing your head on something as you fell. I am a bit surprised though. I thought your head was indestructible, Al." Canada smirked at his brother. Then a look of concern took over, "Alfred how many hands did you see me holding up?" Canada asked as he thought back on his brother's earlier words.

America was dozing off again when his brother's voice woke him up, "Hmm? Oh, I saw two hands." He mumbled trying to doze once more.

Canada was still looking Alfred over for other injuries when he noticed moisture collecting on his brother's face. He reached out placing his palm on Alfred's clammy forehead, "Your fever hasn't gotten any better either. Alfred, you should rest. I'll wake you up in a little while."

America didn't manage a response before falling off into slumber. Canada smiled down at his brother. Even if Alfred had a concussion sleep would be best for him. He needed the rest. Canada would just have to make sure either he or Britain woke him up every 30 minutes to an hour to make sure he remained cognizant.

Meanwhile back in the kitchen Britain had yet to call a doctor and wearily found his way over to the cupboard. He took a look back at the doorway to the living room and made sure neither America nor Canada could see him. Then he leaned on the counter with a heavy sigh. All the stress was eating away at his insides. He needed to unwind his nerves. He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small glass. Then he reached into a different cupboard and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a small shot glass full and quickly tossed it back.

"That'll relax the old nerves." Suddenly an image of Alfred lying prostrate at the bottom of the stairs came popping back into his head… Then the bleeding arms, then the bleeding nose, then the concussion- The little shot glass fell out of Britain's now shaking hand. It clattered onto the counter and then rolled to a stop, "Damn!" Britain cursed out loud, "He's going to wrack my nerves for at least three more days!" The thought was somewhat horrifying. Britain reached out grabbing the bottle of scotch. Without a second thought he raised the whole bottle to his lips and tilted it back. He would need a lot more than a little shot if he wanted to survive the next few hours.

…**to be continued**

Sorry for taking a bit longer with this chapter. I started writing and it went on and on and on. I actually started out thinking it would be a short chapter, silly me.

Plus life has just been getting in the way. I'm also having a really, really, really bad week and enjoy reviews very much! They cheer me up. So please drop a few words in the review box to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks to all of you who reviewed! I read them all. Next chapter would seem to involve a drunk Britain.

Oh yeah. Little side note. I used this full name. Alfred Foster* Jones. I have also read Alfred Freedom Jones. I have heard both versions, but chose the former. If anyone is upset please just substitute it in your mind.


	4. A Drunken Brit

Arthur's Notes:

Sorry it took so long to get this up, but I was working on a new Hetalia fic that I am writing with spotofpaint and that story is called Brother. It is listed under her name. It seems to have taken over all my writing time as of late. It also focuses on brotherly themes America/Canada Bros, Britain/France Bros, Germany/Prussia Bros , Pru/Can, and WW3. As it is turning into a very long fic please check it out too.

Canada was quietly sitting on the couch next to his sleeping brother. Truthfully he could only remember a hand full of times when his brother had been so quiet. It was almost eerie. To pass the time Canada found himself occasionally glancing over at the clock ticking away on the living room wall. Other times he would glance back at the kitchen doorway then he'd turn to check on Alfred again. He let out a sigh as he looked back towards the kitchen once more. _What's taking Britain so long? _Canada thought to himself. The old Brit had been gone for 20 minutes. _How long does it take to call a doctor?_ Propping his elbows on his knees Canada went to rest his forehead on his palms.

When he looked down at the floor he saw the corner of a box poking out from underneath the couch. Curiosity bubbled to life in the younger brother and Canada shot another glance towards the kitchen. Not seeing Britain he slid off of the couch and onto the floor. He recognized the Betty Crocker box immediately and smiled as he pulled it from its hiding place. He and Alfred had spent a few hours in the cake aisle debating on the best cake to get the elder nation. Canada had thought a more reserved cake would be best, but Alfred had set his eyes on this strange confetti cake. At first Canada had been more than a little hesitant, but he could tell it meant a lot to Alfred. Eventually he had conceded and let his brother get the multicolored nightmare. Canada smiled at the memory. The poor Canadian had been so stuck in his thoughts that he hadn't paid any attention when America rolled onto his side. In his sleeping state Alfred reached out wrapping his arms around Canada.

Matthew had somehow forgotten his brother had a tendency to hug things when he slept. He'd probably forgotten because he hadn't slept in the same bed with his brother since they'd been little. Still it was a precarious situation Canada found himself in. "E-eh!" Canada chirped as his brother hugged him close, "Eh, A-America!" He waited a moment more for Alfred to respond, but when his brother failed to wake Canada slapped at the strong arms around his neck. He knew his brother could squeeze things pretty hard while he was sleeping, and he didn't want to be squashed today. "Let go, Alfred. I need to go check on Britain." Canada continued to bat at his brother's arm hoping his brother would release him from this awkward position.

It was Canada's flailing that woke up the older brother. America opened his eyes for a moment and stared at Canada. A bit surprised to find Canada in his arms. Alfred released his little bro. Unwinding his arms, Alfred's fevered eyes went down to the cake box in Canada's hands. He smiled as he stared at the cake, "It's gonna be awesome, Mattie. We'll all have fun. It's another birthday party, together. Maybe one day… He'll come to mine too. Hey Mattie, I want to make the cake…." America said with fading energy.

"Y-you?" Canada's eyes went down to the box in his hand. He'd envisioned he'd do the baking. Both Alfred and Arthur had a way with cooking that could be simply terrifying and disgusting. He was about to say something when he looked up and saw America had fallen back into slumber. Matthew smiled at his brother. He reached out gently pushing his brother's bangs out of his face. Being free once more Canada quickly bent down lying on the floor. He looked underneath the couch and found the stashed presents. He really was hoping that they would be able to give them to Arthur soon. Until that time came Canada placed the cake mix back in its bag and made sure the presents were safe and secure under the couch.

Once that was taken care of Canada sat up and moved towards the end of the couch and away from Alfred's arms. America had started trying to grab the thin air once again. Once safely out of his brother's reach Canada carefully grabbed one of Britain's couch pillows and gave Alfred the pillow to hold. He smiled as his brother squeezed the pillow tightly and seemed to settle down, sleeping soundly once more. Canada immediately found himself looking off at the kitchen once more. Britain was still AWOL, but Canada was a little hesitant to leave America's side. It was true that Alfred was snoring, and Canada was sure nothing would go wrong. Still, his stomach was tight at the idea. Every time he'd taken his eyes off of America in the last few hours Alfred had managed to hurt himself somehow.

"Arthur! Did you call a doctor yet?" Canada called out to the kitchen. "Arthur?" He waited a moment, but when he got no response Canada decided to go track down the lost nation. Canada was glad that his symptoms were nowhere near as severe as his brothers. He had no problem moving around. He was mainly uncomfortable because of the itching. He was about to stand up and go check on Britain when he heard shuffling come from the direction of the kitchen. He turned around and was about to ask what had taken Britain so long. When he felt his eyes widen, nearly popping out of his head at the sight that greeted him, "…eh?" He whispered quietly in shock.

Britain stood. Barely, but he was standing. The English gent was leaning against the doorway that lead towards the kitchen. Britain looked so unstable that Canada was afraid he would fall over at any moment. Canada knew the look on his father's face, and Canada automatically knew what was wrong. He just couldn't believe it.

"Oh no…." Canada moaned as his eyes went to the empty bottle in Britain's hand. _Did he drink the whole thing? _The younger brother thought in horror. He knew Britain was an awful drunk. The island nation was no good at holding alcohol and now was the worst time for it.

Britain stared at Canada for a long, awkward moment. Slowly his bloodshot eyes went to the staircase, "'s more-" Britain hiccupped, "upstairs."

"More alcohol? Haven't you had enough?" Canada kept both eyes on his father.

"No. Ne'd tha other b'ttle." Britain muttered and went to walk towards the stairs. Matthew could already see how badly this could go. Britain was barely able to stand even now on the flat floor. Canada had no urge to watch Britain fall down the stairs, so he quickly jumped to his feet, "Arthur! Wait you-"But Canada's words of warning were cut short.

Britain went to leave the kitchen. In his drunken stupor he was completely oblivious to the giant soup spill that he had created earlier. He was also unaware that he was currently standing in the middle of it. The chicken soup he had meant to give the North American brothers was a puddle at his feet. Britain was in the process of taking a step forward when he slipped. He went careening back with a loud cry. Canada winced as he watched the older nation fall back and land on the floor with a loud thud. Britain hit the ground thrashing around and cursing. Canada rolled his eyes as he watched his father on the floor. At least the soup was being soaked up by Arthur's clothes so he wouldn't have to much to clean up. Canada stood up and walked over to his flailing father who seemed unable to sit up on his own. Canada could already tell that it was going to be a long night.

Canada had to ½ carry, ½ drag the drunken Brit upstairs. Matthew took Arthur to his bedroom. Britain seemed to have some witty retort to everything when he was drunk. He also never shut up. Canada felt his patience wearing thin. After he laid Britain on the bed he went to Britain's closet to find him something to change into. He occassionally would glance back at Arthur, "You need to change your clothes. You're soaking wet."

"It's your fault America!" Britain yelled out from the bed, "I was only trying to do my best by you."

"I'm Canada." Matthew retorted while pulling a fresh shirt from the closet.

"Don't blame this on your brother, America!" Britain quickly retorted back.

"Still Canada." Matthew responded again while pulling out a new pair of pants for his inebriated father.

This time Britain actually seemed to register the difference. He looked at Canada and studied him for a long, quiet moment. Then his face seemed to flush with embarrassment at his error, "Huh? Oh… sorry Canada, I…"

"Had way too much to drink." Canada nodded his head at his statement, "I know. Now just change clothes. I need to go bring Alfred back to the guest room. Now I have to watch after you too." Canada brought the fresh clothes over to Britain and laid them on the bed within his reach.

At being told he needed to be watched Britain's eyebrows knit together with indignation. He huffed out his chest a bit as he quickly retorted, "I'm a grown man! I don't need a young wiper snapper watching after me!" Britain in his anger jumped off of the bed and stood very unsteadily on his own two feet. It was the wrong thing to do and immediately he grabbed at his aching stomach, "Oh my… I. I feel a bit..." Britain's face was turning green as his hands went to his mouth.

Luckily Canada had been paying very close attention to his father. He let out a quick, "Eh!" as he dove for a waste basket and shoved it at Britain. He made it just in time for the older nation to throw up. Canada rolled his eyes as Britain sank back onto the bed and clung to the waste basket like it were a life preserver. After Britain finished he simply fell over in bed refusing to do anything, especially move. Canada had to force his father to change. Eventually he got Britain into new clothes and went back downstairs. He was relieved when he saw his brother was in the exact same spot he'd left him. He had to wake Alfred to get the super power upstairs, but he managed to get Alfred back into the guest room and into bed with no incidences.

Canada had managed to watch both nations for some time. It was another issue that kept surfacing in Canada's mind, and he knew he would need somebody else's help with the problem he faced. He just didn't want to make the phone call. Eventually Canada decided he had to call for assistance. He could only hope that everything would work out.

Pulling out his cell phone he went through his contact list and found who he was looking for. He hit the call button and waited for France. Eventually he heard France pick up, "Papa …j'ai besoin de votre aide." **((Papa…. I need your help….)) **He hoped France would be able to assist him in his time of need without causing to much trouble. He wasn't too surprised when his father began to rant about his love life over the phone. He also wasn't surprised when France started suggesting that Canada find someone who he could love as well, _Do I really have to listen to the same speech every time I call? I don't need help with my love life,_ Canada thought to himself. As his papa continued to ramble on about love Canada rolled his eyes. He spoke out cutting his father's speech off, "Non papa ... Pas avec ça. Je suis à la maison de la Grande-Bretagne. Arthur, Alfred et moi sommes malades. Pas de papa. Je n'ai pas besoin d'aide que ce soit. Papa. Papa? Écoutez-vous? Vous êtes encore là? "(**(No Papa…. Not with that. I'm at Britain's house. Arthur, Alfred, and I are sick. No papa. I don't need help with that either. Papa. Papa? Are you listening? Are you still there?))** Canada felt himself yelling in his quiet way at the phone as France immediately said he would be over as quickly as he could get there. Canada felt his heart skip a beat. Britain would flip a lid and America wouldn't be so happy with France being here either.

Quickly Canada tried to reinforce the reason for his call by cutting off his father's long winded speech about coming to help once more, "Papa j'ai besoin de vous pour regarder Kumojiro pour moi. J'ai pensé que c'était une journée et une excursion nocturne. J'ai pensé qu'il serait préférable de le laisser à la maison. Pas de papa nous sommes ok. " **((Papa I need you to watch Kumojiro for me. I thought this was a day and an evening trip. I thought it would be better to leave him at home. No papa we're ok.))** Canada gently pinched the bridge of his nose as his father listed reason after reason for him to come over to Britain's house. France even asked to speak with Britain. Canada quickly told France that Britain was indisposed at the moment. Eventually Canada got a promise out of France that he would go take care of Kumojiro. After assuring his father that they were ok and didn't need any additional help Canada hung up. He then went to sleep next to his brother.

Unfortunately, a few hours later the doorbell began to incessantly ring. Canada was still upstairs snoozing and had taken too long to answer the door. As such France had let himself in via the emergency key he had once found hidden in his brother's garden. He had once helped Britain home after a long drinking session. In his drunken state Britain had told him about the spare key. It seemed his younger brother had failed to move the emergency key to a new location.

France was on his way upstairs when Canada rounded the corner and laid eyes on his father. Canada's eyes widened with shock when he saw France on the staircase. He had a brief moment were he hoped he was hallucinating. Matthew quickly realized however that he wasn't, "Papa! N'es-tu pas censé aller à ma place!?" **((Aren't you supposed to be going to my place!?))**

"No problem, mon petite Matthieu!" France waived off his son's worries, "I had Gilbert go. I told him he could help himself to your kitchen while he was there. That way I could come aid you in your time of need! Look at you, covered in spots! Where are Amérique and Angleterre?" France made his way up the stairs and gave his son a hug before gently steering Matthew back the way he'd come.

"Prussia!?" Canada's eyes widened as France lead him back towards the guest room, "But Kumojiro doesn't like Gilbert, Papa! And I really don't want him trying to cook pancakes in my kitchen when I'm across the ocean!" Canada fiercely protested.

"He's a hearty opponent. Mon petit Matthieu. He will be fine. Your bear cannot hurt him. Don't worry I am sure he can handle the kitchen. Now to take care of you three. Hon, Hon, Hon. This will be fun!" France's smile consumed his face. "Now, off to bed with you." He steered Canada back into the guest room and then back into bed next to America, "You need to rest. No?"

Canada's eyes widened in shock as he was forced back into bed. France tucked him in and quickly walked back out of the room presumably to go check on Britain. _What is happening here?_ Canada's mind whirled. He had no problem with France helping out, but Britain and America were a different story all together.

He'd had the situation under control. But now….

Author's Notes  
Thanks for reading. Hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving. Lol. I hope that the next chapter will be both longer and also hilarious.


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